


Ford's First Ride

by Anglephile



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, biker, first time motorcycle ride, motorcycle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-02-29 20:37:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18785752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anglephile/pseuds/Anglephile
Summary: Ford needs a ride to go hunting for the legendary Thunderbird, but Stanley picked today to work on the Stanmobile! In a moment of desperation, Ford asks you for a ride. The only problem is your ride is a motorcycle. This won't be the first time Ford risks his life for his research, but it will be his first ride on the back of a motorcycle.





	1. Inconvenient Tune up

**Author's Note:**

> I've gotten some good feedback from Stan's first ride, so I thought I'd give Ford a go. I have a lot more trouble writing Ford, so I hope I'm not too far off the mark. Comments, questions, lay it on me. You guys give me life.

"What? The Stanmobile needs a tune up. How was I supposed to know ya were gonna need a lift right this minute?" Stan pauses mid rant, frown softening to wave at you as you exit the gift shop, leaving for the night. He turns back to the disassembled carburetor on his workbench. "Look, Sixer, you're just gonna have to ask someone else."

"There is no one else!" Ford throws his arms up in frustration.

"Not if ya keep gabbing with me, no." Stan leans to look over Ford's shoulder, and gestures pointedly with his eyebrows.

Ford follows Stan's gaze, and freezes up. He can't honestly expect him to go ask a virtual stranger for help. A blush creeps up his neck he watches you tie down your pack to the back of your bike. Oh, dear. A motorcycle? On a motorcycle they would be--

He turns back to Stan, imploring him for another option, but one glance at the scattered pieces of the Stanmobile makes any argument he has fall dead on his lips.

Suiting up, you don't pay any attention to them. It's not the first time you've caught Stan arguing with his brother, and you've never felt the need to jump between them. You haven't even had a real conversation with Ford, just stiff formalities and awkward silences as he waits for the Dipper and Mabel to join him on some adventure. As long as no one's about to get punched, you're content to ignore their antics. Besides, you're trying to decide if you have enough sunlight left to swing by the logging camp and sight see. Narrowing your eyes at the sky as a sudden gust of wind chills you to the bone, you zip your leather jacket all the way up. It's snug, but not enough to restrict movement. Here, you thought you were going to roast on the way home, and now you're wondering if you merely imagined the afternoon heat. You're fishing for your keys, vaguely wondering why the air smells like ozone, when a throat clears behind you.

"Excuse me, I hate to impose...but, I uh..." the deep voice trails off. You turn, and he gives you a slow once over as he takes note of your form fitting jeans, and tight leather jacket. His face turns bright red when he gets to your face, and finds you smirking at him curiously. He tugs at the collar of his turtleneck, and musters his courage. "I'm researching the legend of the Thunderbird. My studies, as well as this sudden, rather unusual change in weather, leads me to believe one could be nesting nearby, most likely near...uh, Lookout Point..which brings me to my current predicament. Um, c-could I trouble you for a ride?"

"Lookout Point, huh? What's in it for me?" You tease, just wanting to see what he'd do.

"Well, I-I can...owe you one?" he ventures with a small smile, trying to mimic some of Stan's persuasive techniques.

It's a poor parody of Stan's charm, and he doesn't expect it to actually work. He fidgets with his hands behind his back, standing stiffly at attention, as you give him a long look of your own. He can't fight the slight blush that warms his cheeks at your scrutiny. Wait. Oh, no. Lookout Point is where teenagers go to--Did you think he meant--? Which would explain the look you're giving him--Just as it seems like his torture will never end, you throw your leg over the bike, and his heart falls. 

Ah, well. He was familiar with rejection, but it never failed to sting.

"I was going to drive by the loggers, and watch big men lift heavy things, but this sounds like more fun." 

Ford looks up, flustered by your answer. That was a yes, wasn't it?

You scootch forward, and pat the back of the seat invitingly.

Ford hurries to comply, stuttering a quick thank you, and copying your earlier action when you mounted the bike. You start it up, and wait for him to grab on. And, you continue to wait. You glance over your shoulder to see what the problem is. Ford's looking lost, hands fluttering near your torso. He knows he's supposed to hold on, but how exactly? Is he--is he just supposed to, um--

He flinches as you grab his hands, sure you're going to comment on his extra fingers, and wrap them around your middle. He swallows, unable to deny the intimacy of the situation any longer. The gear strapped to the back demands he press his hips flush with yours if he wants to fit on the seat. He feels the warmth of your body spread through his inner thighs along with a low vibration from the engine. The scent of shampoo and dusty leather drifts over his senses. It's nice. Comforting, even.

You shift into first gear, getting ready to take off, and he clutches your stomach a little too tight. His chest is flush against your back, and he knows it makes him seem like he has no concept of personal space, but he really didn't want to fall off.

"Good to go?"

"Uh, y-yes?"

Your head cocks, eyes narrowing as you glance back at him. He probably should have tried to sound more confident. Now, you are going to laugh at him, and kick him off. Like you would let some inexperienced freak cling to the back of your bike.

You smile contemplatively, and turn back.

"Good. So, you're going to lean when I lean? You're gonna trust that I know what I'm doing?"

You're not upset? You're letting him stay? He nods quickly before realizing you aren't looking back, and, thus, can't see him.

"Yes. I believe I can do that."

"Cool. Let's find that imaginary bird!"

His retort is cut off as you choose this moment to take off. He flinches, and presses closer to your back. Why did he think this was a good idea?


	2. Chilly Ride to Lookout Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford learns how to behave on a bike, and tries to find the nest of the Thunderbird.

Ford was cold. The wind was blasting his face and hands with fine shards of ice that melted on contact with his skin. Blinking tears from his eyes, he ducked his head behind your neck, catching his breath for a minute. He wasn't ashamed that he was using your body as a shield, there was no way for him to do otherwise, really. 

The wild onslaught of sensation was nearly overwhelming. The punishing wind, the relentless vibration of the engine, the tangy smell of ozone and exhaust that twisted in the air as you took him speeding over rough asphalt. He tried to focus on watching the swirling clouds, knowing the Thunderbird would be in the blackest, meanest one of the cluster, but his attention kept diverting to the winding road. It was like being tossed through the void, but the void didn't have a belt of rolling stone underneath his feet that could scrape the flesh from his bones in mere seconds. 

The first turn you made, you almost didn't. You eased into the gentle curve of the road, shifting your weight into the turn, and Ford's self preservation instinct flared up. He felt what was happening, and wanted to stay as far away from the road as possible. With a sharp intake of breath, he pulled in the opposite direction, and that's when physics took over. Two forces pulling in opposite directions brought the bike back upright, and his pulse back to normal for a blissful second. Then he registered your harsh shout, saw how little road was left, and managed to override his instinct with pure panic. Following your lead, Ford leaned hard, and you just made it without careening into the woods. You relaxed under him. He was pretty sure you muttered something, but the wind carried your words away before he could make them out. He cringed, regardless. It probably wasn't anything complimentary.

There were no more problems after that.

A clunk and a drop in the idle announced your approach to an access road hidden in between the trees. The No Trespassing sign hung forlornly from a signpost coated almost completely in fuzzy ice crystals. The woods was thicker here, which you were both grateful for. The tight mass of trees blocked the worst of the wind. You shift down to first when you get a look at the deep ruts in the packed mud that passed for a road. Ford breathes a little easier now that you're down to normal speeds, and relaxes his strangle hold on your stomach. Puttering to the top of the cliff, you prop up the bike, and cut the engine. 

Ford clambers off without a word, and runs to the edge of the famed Lookout Point. Observant eyes catalog the most likely nesting areas of the Thunderbird. How would an electrical creature choose a dwelling? Dismisses the trees immediately; they were too likely to catch fire if it's occupant were intermittently sparking. Well, lightning usually strikes the highest point, so the only other feature in the area was the cliff itself. There must be a cave somewhere on the cliff face, somewhere near the top, maybe an outcropping of sorts. He lays on the ground and sticks his head over the edge to check.

He can't see one.

He pushes himself up to his knees, turns to look for a better vantage point, maybe if he tried another angle, and finds himself face to hips with you. How did you sneak up on him? Ford falls back, and flails as one hand slips off the edge. His heart leaps to his throat at the momentary loss of balance, sure he is going over. The wind rushes at his back, and electricity crackles across the churning storm as he wavers on the precipice.

Your hand clasps his, and yanks hard. 

His free hand clutches at his heart as he fights to calm his rapid breathing. His eyes flick to your face, and a flash of fear lances through his chest. You never let go of his hand, and you are, in fact, holding it higher to examine it. He is too stunned to pull away, and just watches. You tilt his hand, still clasped in yours, to get a better look at his extra finger. He should say something. He should--he should let you go home, apologize for clinging to you the whole way, and for nearly making you crash, and--You're looking at him as though you can hear his inner monologue. His mouth goes dry. You smirk and drop his hand.

"Man, you really get tunnel vision when you work, huh?"

"Um, t-thank you for the ride, I'm sure I can find my own way back." He drops his gaze to the ground, not wanting to see the revulsion on your face. 

"You want me to leave you here?" You wrinkle your nose at the idea. The sky rumbles dangerously, clouds a shifting miasma of iron grey. You ease yourself down next to Ford, and he fidgets nervously. You nudge his shoulder. "I've got news for you. Like I was trying to tell you when you were chasing imaginary birds...we're outta gas."

"It's not imagina--Wait, what?!" Ford sputters.

You shrug apologetically. 

"Looks like we're stuck here for the night."


	3. Snuggled Up for the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting cozy on Lookout Point.

You're shivering, arms clutched tight around yourself, and glaring at the tumultuous clouds with suspicion. The sky was mostly dark now, an eerie glow from where the sun should be casting diffused light over the forest like a candle being smothered to death. A black whirl is visible for a second against a backdrop of silent lightning. The hair on the back of your neck prickles with cold and unease. The leather jacket you wore only protected you from the wind, and did little to provide actual insulation. Ford blows on his hands to warm them, shuffling in place. His trench coat isn't much better, but at least he had the foresight to wear a sweater. Seeking shelter from the wind, Ford had led you further along the cliff to an outcropping of rocks that was somewhere between a cave and a divot. It would have been cozy with the bed of pine needles cushioning the ground inside, if it wasn't for the weather. And the lack of roof. It wasn't ideal, but at least the large slabs of rock blocked the waves of sleet that had started blowing horizontally.

A shudder racks your body, and Ford cringes as you stomp off into the encroaching darkness, cursing under your breath. His shoulders fall, defeated. You must've changed your mind, and would rather take your chances in the storm than stay with him a minute longer. He didn't blame you. Rushing off into the forest with no preparation or supplies was foolhardy, especially when he was dragging another person into it. He deserved what he got.

Cold. And silence.

"Where--Ow! Son of a--Where are you?" Your voice calls over the wind a little ways off.

"Oh! Ah, here! I-I'm over here!" He stutters, blinking in surprise.

After a moment, the sound of heavy footsteps stumbling over uneven ground announces your arrival. Ducking your head to the wind, you hug something large to your chest. You collapse against the rocks for a second, catching your breath, then grin up at him. With a flourish, you triumphantly unfurl the bundle in your arms--a flannel blanket. A shy smile finds it's way to Ford's mouth. So, you're not leaving him, then. 

"I'm relieved you brought something to keep you warm. I, uh, I was worried you would be cold." He admits bashfully, adjusting his glasses for something to do with his hands. 

You cock your head, raising an eyebrow curiously.

"You're not going to get under here with me?"

"I'll be fine, I'll be fine." He assures you, waving his hands in front of him before hiding them behind his back self consciously. "I'm used to sleeping in the cold, anyway." 

"Well, I'm not. C'mon, we were closer than that on the way up here." He goes still, flushing red at the reminder. "You're not going to let me freeze out here, are you?"

He wavers, worrying at his bottom lip. He didn't want to be any more of an inconvenience than he already was, but it was his fault they were stuck out here. He should at least try to make it right. His shoulders go tense, and his sense of chivalry winning out. He gives a terse nod. Letting someone suffer because he was too nervous to get close to them wasn't something his conscience would allow. Straightening his back, he slips his coat off his shoulders before he has a chance to second guess himself.

"H-here, why don't we use my coat as a groundsheet? It's waterproof, after all."

He spreads his trench coat out along the back wall, and gallantly gestures for you to sit before he does. Smiling lightly, you take your spot, and flop half the blanket over your legs. Ford lowers himself down next to you, nearby but not actually touching. He takes the corner of the blanket you offer, gingerly tucking it around himself, and blinks distractedly as you fight to get your jacket off. The tips of his ears turn red. Um...what exactly were you going to do under this blanket? You didn't think he wanted to, uh, oh dear. Not that he wasn't interested, but you just met! Come to think of it, you haven't even been properly introduced.

You roll the jacket up and place it on the ground behind the two of you, oblivious to Ford's inner turmoil. Pleased with your work, you turn back to him.

"There. Pillow." Your smile falters. "You okay?"

"Quite. Yes. Okay, that is. Should we...um...?" 

He can't quite get the words out. You scoot lower, laying your head on your makeshift pillow, and open your arms to him.

"Yeah. Come snuggle with me, babe."

Babe?

He swallows hard, apprehension governing his every move as he inches down to your level. His eyes never leave your face, waiting for the shove, the vicious laughter, ready to dart away at the slightest sign he was the punchline in some cruel joke. But you don't say a word. You just watch him, a mix of amusement and curiosity playing on your face, until he settles. Not very comfortably, as it turns out. And still not touching you. You let out a quiet chuckle that has him flinch away.

"Do you want to, maybe, try holding me?"

"Um-"  
"Here, give me your arm."

"Wait, just let me-"

"Ow, damn it!"

"S-sorry! How's that?"

After some awkward shuffling, you end up facing each other. Your head burrowed into his chest; arm slung across his waist. For his part, Ford had one arm supporting your neck, and the other wrapped around your upper back as if you were slow dancing, and he was afraid of accidentally touching something he shouldn't. Although he was trying very hard not to appear too forward, you didn't share any of his compunctions. You nuzzled deeper into his sweater, and he stopped breathing for a moment. He was grateful you couldn't see his face from your current position because he was sure he was as red as his sweater. His eyes widened as your leg curled around his thigh, and pulled him closer.

"...don't want you slipping away in the night." You mumble sleepily.

"N-no, I'll stay. This is...rather nice." His cheeks heat up at his admission.

You hum in agreement, drifting off. The flannel blanket cocooned your bodies in a protective layer of warmth. With the thick layer of pine needles softening the ground, it was actually comforting in a sleeping outside in a freak sleet storm kind of way. Your hair tickled his chin, and he smiled quietly, drawing you close. The snow swirled against a backdrop of slate, stars peeking out in streaks of deep sapphire. Lightning flashed in the distance. Maybe he hadn't been able to locate the nesting grounds of the elusive Thunderbird, but there were worst ways for the day to end. He relaxed back against your rolled up jacket.

He would never be able to sleep like this. What, did he have rocks for brains?


	4. The Thunderbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get up close and personal with the legendary Thunderbird, and come clean about a lie.

Pat, pat, pat. 

A gentle tapping on his chest intrudes on the edge of his awareness. Humming contentedly, a mellow vibration that rumbles from his core, he relishes in the warmth that seems to be all around him, and drifts off again. He hasn't slept this deeply in a long time, and doesn't see the harm in just a few more minutes. There wasn't any light yet, he could tell that much without looking, and whatever it was could wait until morning. 

Pat, pat, pat! 

The tapping is more frantic this time, and his eyes flutter.

"...wha--Mmph!"

A hand clamps over his mouth, and his eyes shoot open. All he sees is darkness. Shadows that ebb and flow in a wall of tangible smoke. The darkness brushes his face and he feels it press against him, envelop his body. He panics. Static sparks around him as he thrashes, tangled in the blanket. Another hand fumbles to hold his shoulder down, and his heart jumps into his throat. His past has finally caught up with him. He struggles to think who could've found him, who he pissed off, stole from. The list was too long. He grabs the arm by the wrist and rolls, pinning the form underneath him. Tendrils of static follow his movement in an arc that radiates out and follows a strange curve above him in the darkness like the keel of a ship. The body under him doesn't fight, but their breath is hot on his chin.

"You're gonna scare--"

A rush of wind with the violence of a hurricane roars around them, pushes them down into the bed of pine needles, and suddenly there is light. He blinks and curses as he squints at the receding blackness. It almost resembles a very large hawk, albeit one about the size of an elephant. His face falls in shock. The thunderbird. 

Where is his journal? He needs to document this. Pencil, he needs a pencil. His eyes dart around the immediate area, and fall on your body still trapped beneath him.

"...it away. Oops."

Blood rushes up his neck all the way to his ears in mortification. You were lying between his thighs, arms pinned next to your head, and slowly arching an eyebrow as he stared down at you at a complete loss for how to fix this situation. You chuckle nervously, and he snaps out of it, scrambling off you as if zapped.

"Oh, my--I'm terribly sorry! I didn't mean--" He jumps to his feet, backing away stuttering apologies. Oh, dear. What could he do? How could he make this right? You had to be so upset, he was probably going to get slapped for this. He deserved it, too. Your gentle laugh makes him flinch.

"Damn. That didn't go as planned."

You shift, getting your legs under you, and Ford darts forward to offer you assistance. Then hesitates, and almost withdraws his hand. You probably wouldn't accept his help after the way he treated you, but you grin and grab his hand. Worrying his bottom lip, he helps you up, and backs away again. His hands clench and unclench behind him. Now. Now, you were going to yell at him. 

You sigh, scanning the clear morning sky, before turning back to him. 

"Ready to go?"

"You're not...upset?" He hunches in on himself as he asks. 

"Nah, we're good. I may have had that coming. Also...ah, nevermind." 

You cut yourself off, and make yourself busy rolling up the blanket, frowning as you pick out pine needles. You hand Ford his jacket, and he shrugs it on, watching you curiously. Shaking out your jacket, you are meticulous about getting the dirt and bits of tree off. You fight your way into the tight leather, zip up. Was that a scuff? Oh, better rub that off. Picking up the blanket, you shamble over to the bike, finding nearly everything so fascinating you need to slow down to examine it. 

Ford narrows his eyes at your back, trying to figure you out. It's almost like you didn't want to get back on your motorcycle. Did you not want to be that close to him? No, you said you were good, and had no compunctions about grabbing his hand. Did you feel bad because you ran out of gas? That must be it! Not being able to provide a ride for yourself, or the person you were trying to help was causing you distress. Not to mention, you had to walk your motorcycle back to town.   
Maybe he could help with that.  
He walks past you sullenly tying down your blanket, and grabs the handlebars, righting the bike. You startle, and give him a dumbfounded look. Ford smiles good-naturedly, hoping to coax a similar expression out of you.

"Lead the way."

"You really don't have to do that." You say, looking somewhere near his feet.

"Nonsense. You were a great help to my research, and I could use the exercise."

"That's...uh, that's not what I mean..." Your eyes flick up to Ford's warm, confused ones, before dropping to your boots. "We're not actually...out of gas..."

Ford blinks, stunned, as a light blush glows on your cheeks. Why would you lie about that? His eyes wander as he thinks it through. You couldn't have been playing some kind of joke on him, because you were "stranded" with him. Wait, was that...the point? He seemed to recall Stan doing something similar in their teens with a girl from math class.

"Well, if that's the case, I'd be happy to accept a ride back."

You nod, and take the handlebars from his grasp without looking up. His shoulders fell. He didn't mean to make you feel worse. He was never any good at this.

The ride back was awkward. You were stiff under him, allowing him to cling to your middle as tight as he needed to. At least, he wasn't cold this time. In fact, without the raging storm, it was rather nice. The melted snow brought a freshness to the air, enhanced the earthy scent of the forest that changed from pine to wet leaves to sweet grass as the highway dipped and curved. The road crested at a particularly high point, and he gasped. The sunlight washed over Gravity Falls and the forest glittered with dew, colors so vibrant and rich he could almost taste them. For the first time, he felt lucky to live here. He relaxed his grip on your stomach a fraction. The rest of the ride was smooth, a marked improvement from the day before, and when you pulled in to the parking lot of the Mystery Shack Ford was sorry it had to end.

You shift to neutral and let physics coax you the last few feet, rolling to a stop alongside the Mystery Shack. Bracing your legs to hold the bike upright, you let the engine idle. You should be heading home, anyway. Ford climbs off cautiously using your shoulder for balance. He hovers nearby, shifting a little as he gathers his thoughts. 

"I would like to thank you for your assistance with the Thunderbird, and..." He straightens his shoulders, hands held tight behind his back. "...and f-for your quick thinking last night. If you weren't there, I'm sure I would have caught hypothermia."

You glance up at him, finally, and he goes weak in the knees when a small smile finds it's way to your face. 

"Well, if you weren't alive, how would I collect on that favor you owe me?" 

"I-I, uh, was there something I could do for you?" 

He squirmed at your devious smirk. Oh, dear. What had he gotten himself into?

"How about some sugar?"

Ford blinked in shock, face instantly beet red. Did that mean what he thought it meant? You looked up at him expectantly under your lashes, keeping your hands wrapped around the handlebars. You were clearly waiting for him to take the initiative, he clenched his hands behind his back, and, well--

If you'd have blinked, you'd have missed it.

Feather light, he brushed his lips chastely on your cheek, his warmth melting into you one last time, before turning tail and running back to the Mystery Shack. Your fingers ghosted over your cheek. You were definitely developing a taste for research.


End file.
